Moving the Mountain
by eaturheartout
Summary: Sometimes, pursuasion requires some friendly force... Rated T- for now!
1. Chapter 1

Warner Bros. Television and Bruno Heller own all characters and The Mentalist. I just own my sick, twisted imagination.

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_Her hand wound around his waist, the other at his neck as he deepened the kiss. Unlike him, Van Pelt had no hypnotic-induced lack of inhibition, so what was her excuse? As soon as the thought came the kiss ended, foreheads together briefly before she pushed away from him._

"_Unhypnotise him then!"_

"_You sure?" _

She shook herself awake from her doze and turned to the man of her reveries, now onto his third doughnut. This stake-out routine was, aside from uncomfortable, getting old. Getting out in the field is all well and good as long as there's something _in_ the field to be observing.

Checking her watch, Van Pelt reached for the coffee flask and, finding the contents cold, opened the second.

"Thirsty?" she asked, and Rigsby took the offered cup with an embarrassed smile. Van Pelt wondered if he had remembered the kiss.

The two agents drank in silence, watching for their suspect, until Van Pelt began to feel drowsy.

"I thought coffee was a stimulant..." began Rigsby, before they both realised the truth. They pulled their weapons, Van Pelt looking for the long-departed assailant and Rigsby calling Lisbon.

Teresa Lisbon answered her phone, and listened as Rigsby started to tell her what had happened. He fell silent, the drug taking affect, then noises of movement as the two unconscious agents were pulled from the SUV and placed on the back seat.

A new voice on the line now, "Here, first part done. See you there."

She clicked her phone shut and smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

Warner Bros. Television and Bruno Heller own all characters and The Mentalist. I just own my sick, twisted imagination.

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Rigsby woke first, the dose having less of an affect on his larger frame. His wrists hurt, and he was looking up around him. _Strange, should be looking down_, he thought. His lack of height was soon revealed to be due to his position on the floor, knees drawn up in front and propped up by whatever he was handcuffed to.

He looked down at his left side and saw a hand joined to his by cold, unforgiving metal. Following the hand up, his worst suspicions were confirmed.

"Van Pelt!" he whispered, the back of his shoulders cradling the back of her head . "Grace! Wake up!"

Although he could feel her breaths moving her body gently, the next few minutes waiting for the drug to wear off were agonising.

Eventually, her breathing hitched as she woke to their predicament, and he relaxed against her. "You okay? I'm here, everything will be okay. Not too sure I can get us out of these cuffs but I'll give it a go..." Rigsby wasn't sure if he was trying to reassure her or calm himself.

Van Pelt however was having rather different problems as she tried to collect her thoughts; she hadn't been this close to him since the kiss, and his scent and heavy weight at her back was intoxicating. He wriggled his hands in an attempt to free them, and her mind shot straight to image of him handcuffed in the situation she had dreamed of only last night.

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An hour later and the pair had all but given up on escaping, and had turned instead to their own thoughts. Van Pelt was turning the facts over in her mind, trying to trace anyone who might have had the opportunity or motive to drug them- the suspect? His wife? Neither had been seen that day, and she ruled them out.

The floor they were on was dusty, items of farming equipment lay strewn around, and there was silence outside. Van Pelt continued her assessment, reckoning they were some way from a main road.

Rigsby meanwhile was fighting a losing battle against his reactions to the soft, warm body behind him. His own body was reacting, rising a little to the occasion with every slight movement she made.

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As light began to fade and any rescue attempt seemed to be taking longer than they anticipated, the casual talk turned to more interesting matters.

"The other week when we kissed," started Rigsby, "why didn't you slap me?"

"You remember?"

"Not entirely, just a vague recollection, and Jane helped with the details."

Van Pelt was silent, wondering the same thing. _If she had been really embarrassed she would have pushed him away, walked faster than she did as soon as she guessed what was going to happen_.

"Grace?"


	3. Chapter 3

Warner Bros. Television and Bruno Heller own all characters and The Mentalist. I just own my sick, twisted imagination.

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Lisbon glanced over at the couch, glad of the privacy her office blinds afforded her. Jane lay as usual, sprawled along it with his feet in the air. He appeared to be humming in his sleep, which suggested that he was doing a bad impression of slumber and a rather good impression of being distracted.

Without a case load at the moment, Jane had been more irritating than usual. His constant games with the CBI team had worn tempers thin and, like a small petulant child, he clearly needed something more active.

For the sanity of the whole team, and probably the building, Lisbon had agreed to let him off the leash for a day. She hoped she was convincing, because even she didn't buy her excuse for this one. She hoped it didn't land anyone in hot water, unless they were Jane-shaped and just as annoying.

She was particularly concerned about Cho, who had been acting funny all week. This afternoon he had made some lame excuse to get out of the office- Lisbon wished she'd thought of that.

Bored and mildly curious as to exactly what role she was playing, Lisbon sighed and walked out of her office to perch on the empty desk of Van Pelt.

"So how's it playing?"

"Hmm?" Jane feigned ignorance.

"The game. The one I'm risking leaving you in charge of. Is it going to plan?"

Jane grinned, a hint of smugness touched his blue eyes.

"Of course it is. Your two agents are, as we speak, locked in my garage. Hopefully they've realised they're not coming out until they talk. Don't you just love locks?"

"They'll be in there a while then. Did you leave food? Rigsby is not going to be happy with an empty stomach, which means he's probably been crabby for a while now."

A look of horror crossed Jane's face. He wasn't going to lose this game due to a small oversight?

Lisbon cocked an eyebrow, piercing him with her usual suspecting gaze.

He winked at her, cracking his face into another dazzling grin.

"Alright, alright, I left them some food."

"Somewhere easy?"

"Yes, what do you think I am, cruel?" He laughed, and closed his eyes again.

Lisbon left him and went to get a coffee, trying to push the image of him laying so relaxed on her bed out of her mind.


	4. Chapter 4

Warner Bros. Television and Bruno Heller own all characters and The Mentalist. I just own my sick, twisted imagination.

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As the silence continued, Grace deep in thought, Rigsby waited. His stomach had been rumbling for a while, but he was quiet. Sometimes, his bullish work methods and innocent manner had his colleagues convinced he was a little slow on the uptake, but Rigsby knew from bitter experience that if pushed, his partner would be quick to run.

Here of course, the running would be figurative rather than literal, but it would have similar consequences.

She wriggled slightly, trying to adjust her position on the floor. Cramp was not conducive to accurate judgement of her feelings. _Did she just say feelings?_ Grace pulled herself up, mentally hiding behind her professional façade. The movement caused Rigsby's shirt to ride up too, and a small sliver of skin revealed between her pants and fitted shirt brushed against his naked back. She shivered and he held his breath, each hoping not to alarm the other.

"Wayne?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry, I should have stopped it before it happened. I knew what you were going to do."

"And you didn't?"

A pause.

"It would have been more embarrassing for you had I not and we had fought over it," she rushed.

The realisation that she had put his feelings above hers came to them both simultaneously, and Wayne laid his fingers over hers, still captured in the cruel handcuffs.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, digesting this new development.

Grace relaxed against him, exhaling deeply as she came to terms with the fact that she, Grace Van Pelt, might have genuine feelings for the mountain of a man behind her. _Feelings_, she supposed, _that went further than "that big hunk of testosterone looks great in tight pants and would probably impress in the bedroom_."

She longed to turn and press her cheek into his broad chest, breathe in his comfortable scent and cuddle into his large arms, but their positions were not going to allow that. Her mind was brought back abruptly from pleasant thoughts to the situation they were in.

Rigsby was happy for the moment to be allowed this time alone, away from the eyes and ears of their team mates, and forgot where he was as he allowed himself to dream once again of holding her against him. _Of course_, he mused, _hopefully there would be a situation soon when they weren't handcuffed back to back_.

His thoughts were interrupted by a rattling at the door, and Grace turned her hand to grip his.

The shadow outside turned into Cho as he entered the barn, and the two agents on the floor called to him, relieved at being found.

Their relief however soon turned to confusion and fear as the normally stoic man walked towards them, gun in hand and pointed, alternating between each of their heads. He was nervous, glancing around and shaking slightly, eyes wide.


	5. Chapter 5

Warner Bros. Television and Bruno Heller own all characters and The Mentalist. I just own my sick, twisted imagination.

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The coffee was hot and burned her lips slightly as she tasted it, heading back towards her office. A thought occurred to her and she turned to Jane and his leather couch.

"Have you checked on them?"

"Not yet, I was planning to give them some time."

"They've had a few hours now, perhaps a quick phone call?"

"Yes ma'am" he saluted, and swung his feet onto the floor. Dialling Van Pelt first, he was surprised when the normally keen and efficient agent didn't answer. The call was diverted to the answering service, and Jane hung up. He shrugged and called Rigsby, figuring he'd hear probably need the break from whatever confusing mess the two had managed to create in the garage.

"Hello?"

"Aah Rigsby! I was..."

"Rigsby? This is his phone but we found it in this SUV here. He a friend of yours?"

"Who is this?"

"Sheriff Jacks, car reported abandoned in this car park about an hour ago, Juicy Cabana, Sacramento. Who am I speaking to?"

"Jane of the CBI. Agent Rigsby was in that car last night on a stakeout with his partner. We'll be along shortly."

He clicked the phone shut and looked up at Lisbon. "Looks like Cho didn't clear up too well last night- the car has been abandoned and for some reason Rigsby left his phone in it. Guess we'd better pay the troublesome twosome a visit, give him his phone back."

Lisbon quirked an eyebrow, but followed him to his car. What else was she going to do today?

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Lisbon would have been happy to sit in silence, swearing occasionally under her breath at his driving. He once described it as "just fast enough." She wondered what it was just fast enough for, a mental breakdown?

Unfortunately for her, Jane had other things on his mind.

"You don't like me messing with the junior agents, so..."

"You're not an agent Jane, so they are just agents to you."

"Okay, agents. We'll have _that_ discussion in a minute." His blue eyes sparkled at her. "You don't like me playing with them, so why did you agree to this?"

"Perhaps because it's about time they did talk? I'm getting tired of watching this stunted courtship, even if you do find it sweet and amusing."

Jane grinned, recognising the streak of romantic she never liked to admit resided somewhere behind her frontal lobe.

"That's cute," he said. "Where's the romance in that?"

She turned in her seat and gave him a wide-eyed look of disbelief.

"You think I'm unromantic?"

"No. But it's interesting that you don't want me to see you that way."

Lisbon turned to stare at the scenery flashing by.

"Shut up and drive, Jane."

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So, Chapter 5 up. What do you think, writing style, characters, plot... this is my first fic for 5 years or so, so be gentle with me!


	6. Chapter 6

Warner Bros. Television and Bruno Heller own all characters and The Mentalist. I just own my sick, twisted imagination.

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Grace looked up at Cho as he came nearer. She was shocked by the look on his face, he was clearly angry and very tired, but there was some hint of panic behind his eyes that she didn't understand.

"Cho, it's us, what's wrong?"

"Yeah man, let us out of these damn handcuffs they're..." Cho turned his gun on Rigsby, teeth set and eyes blazing.

He knelt down beside them, breathing heavily, gun still aimed at the side of Rigsby's head. They couldn't see, but from the feel of his hands pulling at the cuffs he was checking they were secure.

Satisfied, he stood abruptly and stepped out of reach before swinging the rucksack they hadn't noticed earlier off his back. He opened the sack and drew out a large bottle of water before taking a sip from it, staring at them both in dispassionate consideration.

Grace tried again, lowering her voice and pleading with him. "Cho, what's going on? Why are we here and... what are you doing?"

Cho had pulled on latex gloves and drawn a small box from the back, before setting it on the floor in front of him. He pulled at some wires hanging off it, then fiddled with a display. Turning the box so that the display faced them, the two agents hearts sank.

An incendiary device.

_They were going to die in one hour at the hand of one of their most trusted colleagues_, thought Rigsby. _Colleague? More like a friend_.

Grace was doing checks, trying to figure out what had lead to this situation. _He is clearly upset by something, but what? What did I do? Did Rigsby do something when I wasn't around to see it? What could he have done? Could Jane have pissed him off... but no he's not here and surely if you were to kill anyone after being annoyed by Jane it would be Jane and not _other_ people he had upset_.

Her mind moved on. _What is his plan? Does he hope to get away with this? It's the middle of the afternoon, isn't Lisbon missing us all yet? Surely Jane has figured something out. Mary, mother of..._

She started to pray fervently, eyes closed and head resting on her chest.

Rigsby was busy thinking back to moments in the office, on stake-outs and meals with the team when Cho had reacted to his constant eating, his unerring defence of Van Pelt. _Was it his admiration, okay adoration, of the rookie that had pushed Cho over the edge_? He was normally so stoic, so calm and measured even in the face of abusive husbands and murderous lovers. This seemed so strange that Rigsby began to wonder if it was in fact someone else assuming Cho's identity.

Van Pelt broke from her prayers as she heard footsteps. Suddenly Rigsby's head collided with the back of hers and she heard a groan as he dealt with the pain from the blow to his jaw and the impact with her skull.

Momentarily dazed, the world swam and she watched through a haze of stars and the beginning of tunnel vision as Cho left, padlocking the barn door behind him.

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Jane and Lisbon pulled off the road at the building he called home. Separated from the neighbours and lacking in colour, it wasn't particularly homely although the gardener kept the borders neat and the grass short. The lights were off and the curtains open but Lisbon could see they were a plain, cold grey throughout the house.

Jane lead her to his garage, pulling a key from his vest pocket. As they approached the door he turned, put his finger to his lips and grinned. She rolled her eyes but stayed silent, walking softly up to the door.

Pressing her hear to the metal next to Jane she listened intently, fully aware that spying on her agents was not part of her remit. Puzzled to hear no sounds from inside, she looked up at Jane. Standing far too close and towering above her, _probably just to solicit a reaction _she thought, Jane looked equally nonplussed.

"You don't think they've managed to hurt each other?" she asked, wondering yet again whether this plan was going to fly wildly out of control and result in a multitude of undesirable outcomes.

"Nah" he grinned, putting the key into the lock. "They're probably just worn out and asleep."

She cocked an eyebrow and he didn't need his particular skills to deduct exactly what she thought of that comment.

The door flew open under his touch, and the two stared into the dark as their eyes adjusted.

To an empty garage.

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	7. Chapter 7

Warner Bros. Television and Bruno Heller own all characters and The Mentalist. I just own my sick, twisted imagination.

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As the world stopped spinning, Van Pelt's momentary change of perspective inspired her.

"Rigsby? Wayne? Are you okay?"

A lack of response and feeling his frame expand as he took in breaths told her that he was still with her. Unconscious, but that could change. For what she needed though an unconscious Rigsby might just be the better option.

Wriggling herself away from him in the dust, she extended her arms behind her, pulling his wrists further behind him as she moved. This wasn't going to be comfortable for either of them but as the yoga-practising agent she had a distinct advantage. She breathed a quick prayer that he stayed out of it for the next few minutes.

Whispering a soft 'sorry' to him, she continued to move until he lay on his back, shoulders raised slightly off the floor and head lolling back. His arms were pulled tight behind him, raised further towards his shoulder blades than they had been since his early fitness training for the force.

Breathing gently, she took her weight on her cuffed hands and her left foot as she lifted her right leg back into the Anjaneyasana pose, a low lunge position. Her foot brushed his raised shoulders and he moved slightly but when she checked, his eyes were still closed and his breaths steady. Her right foot found a place on the floor between his knees and she transferred her weight to it, preparing for the next move.

Her left foot raised past his shoulders again and she rested in the Downward Dog position, face inches from his, hands still planted firmly next to his.

It was as this point that he chose to wake, eyes opening to find his angel's lips hovering above him. Out of instinct and disorientation he reached up to kiss them only to be stopped by the pain in his shoulders as he moved. "Shit!"

She glanced down and realised that she would have to lay along his body for him to bring his hands down. "Sorry again," she smiled ruefully and placed her head on his chest. His part-open shirt distracted her from her purpose for a moment as his normally hidden chest hair tickled her ear, and only his laboured breathing reminded her. She drew their hands down, releasing the pressure on Rigsby's shoulders, until they rested at their waists.

Rigsby was in heaven; the woman of his dreams had woken him with a promise of a kiss and was now resting on him, her weight balanced carefully in the centre. He could smell her hair, a soft and slightly floral scent over the dirt in the barn. He grimaced, realising that if he didn't stop thinking about her she would soon have growing evidence of his interest, as if she needed any more. He closed his eyes and turned his head to the side.

Opening them suddenly, he remembered the reason for his alarm.

The timer read 00:48:04.


End file.
